


When I am With You, There’s No Place I’d Rather Be

by justkisa



Category: Football RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-12
Updated: 2015-09-12
Packaged: 2018-04-20 09:37:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4782584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justkisa/pseuds/justkisa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four times Khiry impulsively touched Mix’s hair and two times he very deliberately touched Mix’s hair.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When I am With You, There’s No Place I’d Rather Be

**Author's Note:**

> 1) A thousands thanks to [heyitsk](http://archiveofourown.org/users/heyitsk/pseuds/heyitsk) for the beta.
> 
> 2) This story would not exist without [allthatconfetti](http://archiveofourown.org/users/allthatconfetti/pseuds/allthatconfetti). It’s built out of several fabulous twitter conversations we had and she very graciously allowed me to turn those conversations into this story. Thanks, bb <33
> 
> 3) Thank you so much to [pronoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pronoe/pseuds/pronoe) for the fabulous mix. It goes perfectly with the story!

  
[](http://s1203.photobucket.com/user/justkisa/media/mix2_zpsbfmasfpw.png.html)

  
[Mix](http://8tracks.com/judy_louise/when-i-am-with-you-there-s-no-place-i-d-rather-be) by [pronoe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/pronoe/pseuds/pronoe)  


_1\. First Impressions_

When Khiry meets Mix Diskerud, Khiry holds out his hand and says, “Hi, Khiry Shelton, nice to meet you.” 

Diskerud takes his hand, smiles at him like they’ve known each other their whole lives instead of scant seconds, and says, “Hello, Khiry Shelton. I’m Mix.” Then he tugs on Khiry’s hand and pulls him into a hug.

Khiry’s not expecting the hug. He stumbles into it and, for a second, isn’t quite sure what to do with his arms. He manages, after some fumbling, to get them around Diskerud’s shoulders, or more like his shoulders and the back of his head. Diskerud’s leaning into him, head bowed. 

It’s not a quick hug. No fast clasp and pat on the back for Diskerud. He holds onto Khiry for what feels like a long time but is probably no more than a minute. “Nice to meet you, Khiry Shelton,” he says into Khiry’s shoulder, then he starts to step back. 

Khiry tries to step back but one of his hands gets caught in Diskerud’s hair. “ _Shit_. Sorry, man,” he says while trying, mostly ineffectively, to untangle his fingers from the soft, clinging strands of Diskerud’s hair. 

Diskerud smiles and laughs a little. He reaches up and curls his hand around Khiry’s. “Here,” he says, “like this.” His hand is warm and soft and he untangles Khiry’s hand from his hair with a couple, quick movements that seem almost practiced, as if, maybe, strangers’ hands are always getting tangled in his hair. He squeezes Khiry’s hand and says, “There,” then drops his hand. 

“Thanks, man,” Khiry says and looks down at his hand. There are a couple strands of Diskerud’s hair curled around his fingers. He looks back up. Their combined efforts to free Khiry’s hand have left a good portion of the right side of Diskerud’s hair sticking out in a disheveled mess. 

He must be staring at Diskerud with some look on his face because Diskerud lifts his eyebrows and says, “What?” 

“Ah,” Khiry says, “Um, it’s just, your hair, it’s kinda—“

Diskerud laughs. “It’s all messed up, isn’t it?” 

Khiry feels a bit abashed. He shrugs. “Yeah, kinda, man, sorry.”

“No worries,” Diskerud says, reaching up and smoothing down his hair, “That’s always happening.” He finishes fussing and smiles at Khiry. “Did I fix it?” 

He has, mostly, but there’s still one strand stubbornly sticking out. “Uh,” Khiry says, “Mostly, you just—“ He reaches out and tucks the stray strand back into place, which, okay, is like a really dumb ass thing to do. He’s already messed up Diskerud’s hair once and Diskerud probably doesn’t want his hands all up in it again. He snatches his hand back. “Uh,” he says quickly, “You, uh, you just missed one.” 

Diskerud smiles, though, then reaches out and cuffs Khiry’s shoulder. “Thanks, man.” He tugs on Khiry’s shirtsleeve. “So, Khiry Shelton, have you met everyone else yet?” 

“Some people, yeah,” Khiry says.

Diskerud curls his hand around Khiry’s wrist and pulls. “Well, come on then, Khiry Shelton, and I’ll introduce you to the rest.” 

Khiry lets Diskerud tug him forward. “You can just call me Khiry, you know?” he says. 

Diskerud smiles at him over his shoulder. “Okay, Khiry,” he says and drags him forward.

By dinner, he’s calling Khiry _Khi_ and Khiry’s thinking of him as Mix.

Over dinner Mix tells Khiry all about looking for apartments in New York. He puts his fork down in the middle of his salad and says with a smile, “You know, I’m thinking of having a roommate. You know where you’re going to live yet?” 

It’s crazy. They haven’t even known each other a day. What’s even crazier is that Khiry wants to say yes. He doesn’t, not right then. But he wants to.

(Khiry says _yes_ a week later and Mix smiles like his _yes_ is the best thing ever. 

“Yeah?” Mix says.

“Yeah,” Khiry says. 

Mix smiles even wider, which, Khiry isn’t sure should be possible, and says, “This is going to be so great.” And Khiry’s pretty sure he’s right.)

_2\. Airplane_

Mix falls asleep about an hour into the flight. He’s slumped back in his seat, mouth open and arms slack and slightly akimbo in his lap. His phone is still clutched in one hand. Khiry gives him a glance every now and then, just to make sure he hasn’t dropped his phone, but mostly he watches his movie and leaves Mix to sleep. 

Sometime between the flight attendant coming around and asking if Khiry wants something to drink - she whispers and so does Khiry and Mix sleeps through their whole exchange - and Khiry finishing the orange juice she brings him, Mix slips sideways into Khiry and his head ends up on Khiry’s shoulder. 

It happens at a bad moment. Khiry has his glass of orange juice about an inch from his face and his last swallow of juice ends up on his face and his shirt and, maybe, a little in Mix’s hair. “Shit,” he says, kind of loudly, and winces. Despite the fact that he’s responsible for the orange juice sliding stickily and unpleasantly down Khiry’s neck, Khiry really doesn’t want to wake Mix up. 

Mix makes a low, murmuring sound. Khiry holds himself as still as he can. Mix rubs his face against Khiry’s shoulder. His hair brushes along Khiry’s neck and cheek. It’s soft and it kind of tickles but Khiry manages not to move. Then Mix makes a huffy, breathy sound and slumps heavily against Khiry’s shoulder. Khiry looks over as best he can without moving. Mix is still fast asleep. 

Khiry doesn’t move for a few minutes, just sits there, empty plastic glass still in hand, orange juice sliding down his neck into his shirt collar. He listens to Mix breathe, slow and steady, until he’s pretty sure Mix is so fast asleep that Khiry can move a little without waking him. 

Khiry puts the empty glass down first. Then, using his other hand, he grabs the little napkin that came with his drink and carefully pats his face and neck dry. Well, he tries, at least; when he’s done, he still feels sticky. He crumples the napkin up and stuffs it in the empty glass. Mix sleeps through it all, a warm, heavy weight against Khiry’s shoulder and side. 

Then Khiry, as careful as can be, picks up his tablet, pushes his headphones back over his ears, and goes back to watching his movie. Mix doesn’t stir. 

Mix sleeps through the flight attendant coming and picking up Khiry’s empty glass. By then, Khiry’s arm is going numb under Mix’s weight but he doesn’t really mind. The plane’s cold and the seats are really not that comfortable but having Mix pressed against him makes it feel warmer and, he doesn’t know, cozy or some shit. It’s kind of nice.

Jeb comes down the aisle a little while after the flight attendant. He smiles so widely Khiry can see all his teeth, which can’t mean anything but trouble for Khiry. “ _Awwww_ ,” he says, “Look at you two, aren’t you adorable?” 

“Shut up, Brovsky,” Khiry hisses, “You’ll wake him up,” which, upon reflection, was exactly the wrong thing to say.

Jeb smirks. “Aww, kid, aren’t you precious?” he says, in a kind of singsong mocking tone that makes Khiry want to punch him in the face. He settles for flipping him off with his free hand. 

Jeb laughs then digs out his phone and holds it up to take a picture. “C’mon, Jeb,” Khiry whispers frantically, “don’t—“ but Jeb’s already taken the picture. 

Jeb smiles. “Gotta share that kind of adorableness with the world, kid,” he says, putting his phone away. Khiry flips him off again and resigns himself to all of the shit he and Mix are going to get from, well, everyone. Jeb just laughs and saunters off down the aisle. 

Khiry drops his head back against his seat and sighs. They’re really never going to hear the end of this. Mix mumbles something and turns his face into Khiry’s shoulder. “Mix?” Khiry says, quietly. He waits for a reply but one never comes. Mix is still fast asleep. 

Khiry expects Mix to wake up when they start their descent but Mix sleeps right through it. He sleeps through their landing and he’s still asleep when the pilot comes on to announce they can disembark. 

“Mix,” Khiry says, “Hey, Mix, c’mon, we’re here.” Mix doesn’t stir. Khiry turns his head as much as he can. Mix’s face is turned toward Khiry and his hair’s fallen forward across his face. He looks really peaceful and part of Khiry just wants to let him be but his arm is numb and they really have to get off the plane. “Mix,” he says again, a little louder this time, “C’mon.” It gets him nothing from Mix. Not even a twitch. He should really just give him a good hard shake or push him off his shoulder, but he can’t bring himself to do either. “Mix,” he says, reaching over and pushing Mix’s hair up off his face and tucking it behind his ear, “Hey, time to get up, man. C’mon.” 

Mix turns his face into Khiry’s hand and mumbles, “Khi, Khi, whazzit?” His mouth skates along Khiry’s palm. His mouth is warm and soft and Khiry’s whole arm prickles. The prickles starts at his palm and shoot up his arm, like this arm is the one going numb. He wants to jerk his hand away but his fingers are still tangled with Mix’s hair and he doesn’t want to hurt him. 

“Uh,” Khiry says, trying to gently disentangle his hand, “S’time to get up, man, we’re here.” 

“Mmm’kay,” Mix says, straightening up a bit, allowing Khiry to pull his hand away. His shoulder is still pressed against Khiry’s shoulder. “Shit,” he says, yawning hugely, “Did I sleep on you the whole way?” 

“Uh,” Khiry says, “Not the whole way. No.” 

Mix straightens up. “Still, uh, sorry, about that,” he says, lifting his arms over his head and arching his back in a stretch that makes his back crack. 

Khiry tries not to wince. He hates that sound. “S’fine,” he says.

Mix drops his arms. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man,” Khiry says. 

Mix smiles then leans in and bumps his shoulder against Khiry’s. “Thanks,” he says.

“But,” Khiry says, “uh, just so you know, Jeb kinda took a picture.” 

“ _Fuck_ ,” Mix says, dropping his head onto Khiry’s shoulder, “Khi, really?” 

“Yup.”

Mix bangs his forehead against Khiry’s shoulder. “That’s going suck for us, isn’t it?” 

Khiry reaches over and awkwardly pats Mix’s back. “So much,” he says, “Sorry.” 

“Eh,” Mix says, straightening up again, “We’ll get him back somehow.” 

Khiry laughs a little. “Sure, man,” he says, “But, uh, like, first we’ve got to get off this plane and stuff.” The seats around them have been emptying rapidly and before long they’re going to be the only ones left onboard. 

“Right,” Mix says, “Yeah.” He stands up, so fast he almost bumps his head on the overhead compartment. He holds out his hand. “Well,” he says, “Khi? C’mon. Places to go. Things to do.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Khiry says, laughing a little. Mix smiles toothily and wiggles his fingers. And Khiry laughs some more but he takes Mix’s hand and lets him pull him up. 

_3\. Syttende Mai (Seventeenth May)_

When Mix explains the whole _Syttende Mai_ thing to Khiry, Khiry says, “So, kinda like the Fourth of July?”

Mix wrinkles his nose. “Kinda,” he says slowly, like he doesn’t really want to agree, “I guess.” 

“I just meant,” Khiry says, “Like, there’s a parade and, like, I dunno, lots of food and, like, tons of tiny flags. Right?” 

Mix laughs. “Yeah. Yeah. All that.” 

“Sounds fun,” Khiry says. 

Mix beams. “So you’ll come?” 

“Yeah, ‘course,” Khiry says, “If you want me to.” 

Mix rolls his eyes. “Of course I want you to,” he says in a tone that suggests he thinks Khiry’s an idiot for suggesting otherwise. 

“All right then,” Khiry says, “Guess we’re going to a parade.” 

Mix bounces up and down a little. “It’s going to be great. You’ll see.” 

Khiry smiles. He’s happy enough just hanging out with Mix, checking out their new city together, but, hey, he likes parades plus he likes anything that makes Mix this happy. 

When the actual day arrives and Khiry’s getting ready to go, he’s mostly thinking, parade, walking around the city, and, frankly, Fourth of July, so, when he gets dressed, he just puts on jeans and t-shirt. He’s thinking of grabbing a hat when Mix pounds on his door. 

Mix is through the door and in his room before Khiry can even start saying _come in_. Khiry’s not even surprised. He always does that. “Khi, Khi, I need your help.” 

Khiry turns around. “You could at least wait—“ he starts to say then stops. Mix is wearing a suit. He has an untied tie around his neck and he’s holding the ends in his hands. 

“Is that what you’re wearing?” Mix says.

Khiry looks down at his outfit then back at Mix’s suit. “Is this a suit type deal? ‘Cause I can totally change.” 

“Uh,” Mix says, “Maybe, yeah, if you wouldn’t mind?” 

Khiry shrugs. “Okay.”

Mix smiles. “But, uh, first can you help me with this?” He holds up the ends of the tie. “I can’t get it to—“ He shrugs helplessly. “It hates me.”

Khiry laughs. “Uh-huh, yeah, I’m sure it does.” 

Mix pouts. “ _Khiry_ ,” he says, dragging Khiry’s name out into a long, exaggerated whine. 

Khiry rolls his eyes. “C’mere. I’ll fix you up.” 

Mix smiles and bounds over. 

The tie has kind of a weird texture and tying it isn’t as easy as Khiry thought it would be. He gets it though. Eventually. He pokes Mix when he laughs, because, _fuck him_ , he couldn’t even tie his own tie. “There,” he says, when he’s finished, patting Mix’s chest, “All good.” 

Mix smiles and runs his hand along the tie. “Thanks, Khi.” 

Khiry smiles and gives him a little shove. “No problem. Now get out so I can change.” 

“Yeah,” Mix says, then, as he’s leaving the room, “Don’t take too long.” 

Khiry flips him off. “Whatever,” he says, “It isn’t me who takes forever to get ready to go anywhere.” 

Mix laughs and lets the door slam behind him.

Khiry digs around in his closet and finds a suit and dress shirt. He gets changed then goes looking for a tie. He settles on a black bow tie and then, of course, because the universe hates him, he can’t get it to tie right. It comes out crooked every time. He gives up after his fifth try and leaves the ends to dangle. Mix is going to laugh so hard.

He grabs his phone, wallet, and keys off his bureau, shoves them in his pocket, and goes to find Mix. 

Mix is by the front door, peering into the mirror on the wall next to the door, fiddling with his hair. 

Khiry comes up behind Mix and runs his palms along the sides of Mix’s head. “There,” he says, “Now it’s perfect.” 

“ _Khiry_ ,” Mix says, twisting away from his hands, “What the fuck? You messed it up.” 

Khiry laughs. “Nah, man. If anything, what I did was an improvement.” 

Mix shoves him. “Shut up. It is _not_. You messed it up.” 

Khiry rolls his eyes. He reaches out and tucks a stray strand behind Mix’s ear. “You look fine. Quit bitching.” 

Mix wrinkles his nose. “Yeah?” He sounds unconvinced. 

Khiry nods. “Totally fine.” 

Mix smiles. “If you say so.”

“I do,” Khiry says, as seriously as he can, “You’ve never looked finer.” 

Mix laughs. “Uh-huh.” He looks Khiry over. When he notices the untied tie, he smirks. “Having a little trouble there, Khi?” he says. 

“Maybe,” Khiry says.

Mix tugs on one end of the tie. “Need some help?” 

Khiry nods. “Yeah. Maybe.” 

Mix shuffles closer and picks up the other end of the tie. “I guess I could help you out,” he says. And, of course, he gets it tied on his first try. Khiry kind of wants to hate him for that. “There,” he says, straightening out the lapels of Khiry’s jacket with two little tugs, “Now you are ready to go.”

“All right,” Khiry says, “Let’s do this. Let’s go wave little Norwegian flags and, like, eat—“ He pauses. “I dunno, what do you even eat at Norwegian parades?” 

Mix rolls his eyes, gives Khiry’s jacket one last tug then lets go and says, “Come on already and I’ll show you.”

“All right,” Khiry says, “Bring it on.” 

Mix smiles, reaches out and grabs Khiry’s wrist, and tugs him out the front door. 

Mix doesn’t let go of his wrist until they tumble out into the warm May sun. “Thanks,” he says, “For coming with me.” 

Khiry leans in and bumps their shoulders together. “No place I’d rather be,” he says and Mix gives him a smile that’s as brilliant as the bright May morning.

_4\. Kitchen_

When Khiry left the locker room, Mix said he was right behind him. _Just give me a minute._ That’s what he’d said. 

It’s been at least ten minutes. 

After five or so minutes, Khiry sighed, propped himself against the wall across from the door, and started going through his missed texts. 

He’s just finished texting his mom when the door opens. He looks up. It’s Jeb. He waves a little half-heartedly and looks back at his phone. “Waiting on the boyfriend, huh, kid?” 

Khiry jerks his head up so fast he bangs it on the wall. “Uh,” he says, then stops, because _what the fuck?_.

“You know,” Jeb says, grinning, “Your other half. Yea high.“ He waves his hand and misses Mix’s actual height by about a foot. “Terrible hair. You two are joined at the hip? Sound familiar? Ring any bells?” 

“Uh,” he says again, because _what the hell does Jeb want him to say?_ It’s not like Jeb’s wrong, exactly. Well, he’s wrong about the boyfriend stuff, but not really the rest. And the guys tease them about it, how they’re always together, but nobody’s said anything like this. Khiry’s never thought about it like this - never thought about _Mix_ with those words. 

Jeb laughs a little and comes across the hall. “Close your mouth, kid,” he says, not unkindly, reaching out to tuck his fingers under Khiry’s chin and push his mouth closed, “It was just a joke.” 

Khiry pushes Jeb’s hand away. “Whatever, Jeb.” 

Jeb tips his head to the side and studies Khiry in a way that makes him want to squirm. “You know, kid,” he says, after a moment, voice gone soft and gentle, “If you and Mix were, you know, that’d be fine. No one here’s going to give you problems.” He smiles a little and cuffs Khiry’s shoulder. “I wouldn’t let’em.” 

Khiry steps sideways, away from Jeb’s hand. “Uh, we’re—we’re not, Jeb, it’s not like that.” Even as he’s stammering out the words, though, he’s not sure they’re true. Well, they’re literally true, because right now, him and Mix, they _aren’t_ like that. But, the thing is, Khiry’s not really sure what they’re like. He’s never had a friend like Mix. Never made such a close friend so fast. Never gotten entangled in someone’s life so quickly and so completely. 

Jeb shrugs. “Okay. Whatever you say, kid.” And he doesn’t sound like he’s humoring Khiry, or making another joke. He sounds totally sincere. He cuffs Khiry’s shoulder again. “I’ll see you later, ’kay?”

“Yeah,” Khiry says, “Sure, man.” 

Jeb nods but, as he turns to go, he says, “Just remember, though, okay, it’d be all right, you know, if you were.”

Khiry looks away. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

“See you,” Jeb says softly and, when Khiry turns back, he’s gone. 

Khiry looks down at his phone. There’s one last text from his mom. _baby say hi to Mix for me, ok?_ He turns the phone over so he can’t see the screen and leans his head back against the wall. His mom loves Mix. He wonders if she thinks the same things Jeb does, wonders—

Mix comes bursting out of the locker room. “Sorry. Sorry,” he says. He’s talking too fast, his words tumbling together. “Shit, sorry, Khi. Have you been waiting long? Sorry. I was talking to Villa or, like, trying to talk to Villa. Sorry.” 

Khiry pushes off the wall. “S’fine, man, chill. I was just—“ He stops. Just, what? _Just talking to Jeb about how he thinks we’re dating and he’s, like, totally cool with that._ Or maybe, _And now, I’m, like, thinking, that I have no idea what the fuck we’re doing together, what we are to each other._ He’s not saying any of that shit to Mix — not when none of it even makes any sense yet in his head. “Was just texting my mom. She says hi.” 

Mix smiles, big and bright, and says, “Hi, Khiry’s mom,” and waves, like she actually can see him or some shit. 

Khiry rolls his eyes. “You can call her Jen, you know? I know she told you that you could.”

Mix shrugs. “I know,” he says, “It’s just, you know, she’s your mom, I don’t—“ 

Khiry kicks Mix’s foot. “She said it was fine and she meant it. She likes you.”

Mix blushes a little. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, man.” 

Mix smiles. “I like her too.” 

And fuck if that doesn’t make Khiry so much happier than he really thinks it should. “Yeah,” he says, “She’s great.” He kicks Mix’s foot again. “So, ready to head out?”

“Yeah,” Mix says, “Let’s go.”

Once they’ve gotten going and they’ve finished their habitual fight over music, Mix says, “So, what do you want to eat?” 

Khiry shrugs. “I dunno.” 

“I’m exhausted,” Mix says, “You want to just order something?”

“Sure,” Khiry says. They have this conversation almost every day and he’s never noticed just how domestic it is, how _couple-like_ it is. 

“Usual place?” Mix says, digging his phone out of his pocket. 

“Yeah, sure,” Khiry says. 

“You want your usual?” Mix says. He’s already dialed and he has his phone pressed to his ear. 

Mix knows his usual. He knows Mix’s usual. He could probably order for Mix in all the places they go on a regular basis. It’s—

“Khi?” Mix says, “Your usual? That’s okay?” 

“Sure,” Khiry says, “Fine.” 

Khiry’s quiet the rest of the way home, turning all the little things he and Mix do - all the _couple-like_ things they do - over and over in his head. He’d never thought about them like that but now, thanks to Jeb, he can’t stop. 

Mix chatters away the whole drive, holding down both parts of a conversation himself. He also takes advantage of Khiry’s distraction and changes the music but Khiry doesn’t notice until they’re all the way home. “You changed it,” he says, when he parks the car. 

Mix laughs and shrugs. “You didn’t stop me.” 

Khiry rolls his eyes. “C’mon,” he says, “Let’s go. Food’ll be here soon.”

They eat dinner on the couch and Khiry lets the TV fill the silence. Usually they talk more but today, Khiry just stares at the TV, not really seeing it but not really ready for conversation either. He’s still all mixed up. Too unsettled to talk. Too afraid of what he might blurt out.

When they’re done eating, Mix takes Khiry’s empty plate and fork without any of his usual (and totally inaccurate claims) about how it’s really Khiry’s turn to wash dishes, and heads for the kitchen. 

Khiry almost gets up and goes to his room because part of him wants to hide away until he figures out just what all the crap Jeb stirred up means. But he’s gotten so used to being around Mix, gotten so used to spending most of his time with him. He _likes_ it that way. And even being confused as shit doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be around him. 

He pushes up off the couch and makes his way to the kitchen. 

Mix has already started on the dishes. He’s elbow deep in suds and half-humming, half-singing a song Khiry doesn’t recognize. He’s the messiest dishwasher Khiry’s ever seen. He always ends up with a soaking wet shirt and always gets water and soapsuds all over the counter and the floor. Khiry leans against the fridge and watches Mix finish the dishes. 

Mix puts the last dish in the rack and shuts off the water. He turns around. He smiles, big and bright, when he sees Khiry. And Khiry can’t help smiling back. The bottom of Mix’s shirt is soaking wet and plastered to his stomach. He has soap suds in his hair, little bubbles clinging to the ends of his hair right by his chin. 

“Hey,” Khiry says. 

Mix leans back against the sink and wipes his hands on his pants. “You know,” he says, “It was totally your turn to do the dishes.” 

“Nah, man,” Khiry says, “It really wasn’t.” 

Mix laughs a little. “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t.” He pushes off the sink and comes towards Khiry. He stops in front of him. He tips his head to the side and studies Khiry, his expression gone as solemn as Khiry’s seen it. Soapsuds drip off the ends of his hair onto his shoulder and Khiry, despite the serious way Mix’s studying him, almost wants to laugh. 

“Khi,” Mix says, “You okay? Been kinda quiet.” He reaches out, like he’s going to touch Khiry, then drops his hand. “You can tell me whatever, you know? And, like, we’ll figure it out, whatever it is.”

There’s something about the casual way he says _we_ , like Khiry’s problems are his problems, like that’s just something he takes for granted. Like, for him, they’re a _we_ and that’s all there is to it. Khiry likes that. He wants to be part of a _we_ with Mix, whatever that might mean, and maybe that’s all he needs to know.

But he doesn’t know how to put any of that into words so, instead, he reaches out and catches the last of the soapsuds sliding off Mix’s hair and says, “You got soap in your hair.” He pinches the strands between his fingers and tugs lightly. Mix’s hair is soft and slick from the soap and water.

“What?” Mix says, startled “Khi?” And he reaches up and fumbles his hand over Khiry’s. Their fingers get all tangled together. 

Khiry smiles. “Soap. In your hair,” he says. 

Mix wrinkles his nose. “Really?” His hand is still entangled with Khiry’s hand. 

Khiry laughs. “Yeah. Gotta be more careful doing the dishes.” He lets go of Mix’s hair. He’d tug his hand away but Mix’s still holding on and now they’re sort of awkwardly holding hands on Mix’s shoulder. Khiry kind of likes it. Not the awkward part. But he kind of digs the holding hands part.

Mix laughs. “Yeah. Probably. I always end up soaking wet.” 

Khiry nods. “You really do,” he says, trying hard not to laugh. He doesn’t really succeed.

Mix squeezes his hand. “You’re all right, though, Khi? I mean…” 

“Yeah,” Khiry says, “I’m good.” He pauses. “ _We’re_ good.” 

Mix smiles like he’s not sure exactly what’s going on but is willing to just roll with whatever Khiry’s saying. “Yeah,” he says, with assured sincerity,“‘Course we are.” 

And they are, standing there in their kitchen, holding hands. They’re good. And whatever it means that they’re a _we_ , Khiry’ll figure it out. Well, he and Mix’ll figure it out. And that’s all Khiry really needs to know.

_5\. Couch_

Mix plops down onto the couch next to Khiry and says, “Give me the remote.” 

Khiry curls his fingers around the remote. “Nah, man. M’not in the mood for whatever obscure, pretentious bullshit you’re watching on Netflix this week.” 

“C’mon, Khiry,” Mix says, waving his hand in front of Khiry’s face and wiggling his fingers, “You aren’t even watching anything.” 

Khiry pushes his hand away. “Yeah. I am. I’m watching—“ He stares at the TV. He’d just put on ESPN and he’s not sure what they’re showing. “—baseball highlights.” 

“ _Khiry_ ,” Mix whines, “You don’t even like baseball. Give it to me.” He makes a grab for the remote. 

Khiry snatches it out of his reach and says, “I like baseball just fine.” And he does. Kind of.

“You’re such a liar,” Mix says, “Give it to me.” And he makes another, more serious, grab for the remote. 

And, okay, maybe, Mix has a point, but that doesn’t mean Khiry’s just handing over the remote. He jerks it away from Mix and Mix half-scrambles onto his lap and gets a hand on Khiry’s wrist. After that things escalate pretty quickly into an all-out tussle. They’re pretty evenly matched but Mix is ticklish as hell and Khiry’s not afraid to fight dirty. 

He only relents when Mix gasps out, between bouts of breathless laughter, “Khi. Khi, _fuck_ , stop, stop, m’gonna piss all over the couch.” 

He jerks his hands away. “Eww, fuck, Mix, gross.” 

Mix collapses across Khiry’s thighs with a huff. “Yeah, well,” he says breathlessly, “Then don’t fucking tickle me.” He’s red-faced and his chest is heaving. His hair is a mess. There are strands clinging to his cheeks and lying across his eyes and nose. 

Khiry waits a second to see if Mix is going to get up but he seems content to lay there, a heavy weight across Khiry’s lap, head pillowed on Khiry’s thigh. “Well,” Khiry says, “Don’t try and take the remote.” He’s not even sure where the remote is right now but that’s not really important. Mix doesn’t have it. That’s what’s important.

Mix rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he wrinkles his nose and crosses his eyes, like he’s trying to look at his nose. Then he purses his lips and blows air at the piece of his hair draped across his nose. The strand flutters up for a second then floats back down to where it was before.

Khiry laughs. “That’s so not gonna work, man,” he says, reaching out to slide the strand of hair off Mix’s face, “There.” 

Mix smiles. “Thanks.”

“No problem, man.” 

“You know,” Mix says softly, after a minute, “You kinda touch my hair a lot.”

“Uh,” Khiry says, because _what the fuck_. He doesn’t have a clue what to say. It’s not like he can say it isn’t true. It kind of is. “Sorry,” he says. He can feel his face getting hot. “Uh, I’ll, uh…” 

Mix reaches up and pokes his arm. “Stop it. I don’t care.” He pauses then adds, his voice gone soft and hesitant, “I, uh, I like it.”

“Oh,” Khiry says, because _oh_. 

“Yeah,” Mix says, “Uh, so…” He’s staring up at Khiry, wide-eyed, like he’s not sure what Khiry’s reaction is going to be, like he’s bracing himself for something bad.

Khiry takes a slow, steadying breath then he carefully runs his fingertips through Mix’s hair. 

“Oh,” Mix says and smiles. 

Khiry smiles back. “Yeah,” he says and does it again. Then again.

Mix starts shifting around and Khiry pulls his hand away. Mix settles on his side. He’s still laying half across Khiry’s lap. Mix rubs his cheek against Khiry’s thigh. “You, uh, you don’t have to stop or, you know, whatever.”

With Mix turned like this, Khiry can really get his fingers into his hair. He goes slowly. Lets the strands slide through his fingers. Mix’s hair is soft and light. “Mmm,” Mix says, “S’nice.” Khiry does it again and Mix makes a pleased, humming sound. And Khiry wants to hear that sound again and again. So he keeps going. 

He keeps waiting for Mix to tell him to stop, to flop over onto his back and bat Khiry’s hand away, say something, like, _all right, man, enough_ and then sit back up. But he doesn’t. Instead, he falls asleep in Khiry’s lap as baseball highlights give way to a discussion of hockey trades. And Khiry could stop, then, but he doesn’t want to. Doesn't want to stop touching Mix unless he absolutely has to. He likes the way Mix’s hair feels running through his fingers. It’s, just, it’s nice. The way the strands tangle, soft and silky, around his fingers. The way his fingertips slide along the warm, plushness of the skin of the nape of Mix’s neck. He feels warm and content and he almost falls asleep himself. But neither of them should really be sleeping on the couch. The trainers will kill them both so dead. 

He lets Mix sleep for awhile anyway. Lets him sleep through more baseball highlights and a discussion of some basketball related rumor. Because he doesn’t want to stop touching Mix and he doesn’t know what’s going to happen when Mix wakes up. Doesn’t even know what he _wants_ to happen. All he knows is he likes _this_ , Mix a warm, heavy weight in his lap, and the silky-soft slip of Mix’s hair through his fingers. 

But, around ten-thirty or so, the thought of their trainers’ ire, has him reluctantly untangling his fingers from Mix’s hair and giving Mix’s shoulder a gentle shake. “Mix,” he says, “C’mon, man. You know we can’t stay here all night.”

Mix makes a low, protesting sound. Khiry shakes him again. “C’mon, Mix.” 

“ _Mmm_ ,” Mix says, rolling over and blinking up at Khiry, “Don’t wanna.” 

Khiry laughs a little. “Sorry, man. If I let you sleep here all night, the trainers’ll kill me dead.” 

Mix yawns hugely then rubs his hand across his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep. Sorry.” 

“S’no problem,” Khiry says, “I, uh…” And he almost says _any time_ but that seems kind of weird so he says, “S’all good.”

Mix smiles. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah,” Khiry says and he can’t resist tucking a stray strand of Mix’s hair behind his ear and letting his fingers skim along the warm skin of Mix’s cheek. He’s going to have to let go soon enough and he wants one last touch.

Mix pushes himself up, puts his arms over his head, and stretches until his back cracks. Khiry flinches. He really does hates that sound. Mix laughs a little and Khiry elbows him. “Shut up.” He pauses, waits for Mix to say something, _anything_ , about all this, about _any_ of this. But Mix doesn’t say anything. So he stammers out, “So, uh, guess, uh, s’like time for bed.” And suddenly he wants to be far away from Mix, far away from something that it seems like, maybe, meant more to him than to Mix. He starts to push up off the couch. “I’m just—“ 

Mix curls his hand around Khiry’s wrist and holds him in place. “Khi, just,” he says, “Uh, just wait a sec.” 

“Okay,” Khiry says. Mix’s hand is warm around his arm and he’s stroking his fingers back and forth along in the inside of his wrist. And Khiry’s heart feels like it’s pounding in rhythm with the strokes of Mix’s fingers. He waits, feeling like he’s poised on the edge of something, teetering there, ready to fall. 

“Just,” Mix says, “Look at me, would you, Khi?” 

Khiry shifts a little so he can look at Mix. Mix smiles a little. He’s still holding on to Khiry’s wrist. “Can I—” Mix says, “I just— I want to—“ 

“What?” Khiry says. And whatever it is Mix wants, Khiry’s sure he wants it too, but he mostly just wants him to spit it out. The waiting’s killing him.

Mix ducks his head and his hair falls forward around his face. “Uh—“

“Hey, Mix,” Khiry says, impatient, “Whatever it is, you can have it or, you know, whatever, just—just tell me.” 

Mix peeks up at him. “Yeah?”

“‘Course, man.” There’s nothing Khiry can imagine Mix asking for that he wouldn’t give him. 

Mix lifts his head and smiles, wide and bright. “Even,” he says and then he leans in and kisses Khiry, quick and soft, and it’s everything Khiry’s been waiting for, maybe since he met Mix, even if, until right now, he didn’t exactly realize it. “This?” 

And this, the kiss, the way Mix’s looking at him with affectionate expectation, it feels less like falling than like sliding gently into something that was already his. Khiry swallows and licks his lips. “Definitely,” he says, leaning in to kiss Mix, “This.” 

Mix smiles. “Yeah?”

Khiry’s mouth is tingling a little from the kisses. He nods. “Yeah,” he says. He curls his hand around the back of Mix’s head, threads his fingers through his hair, and pulls him in to kiss him again.

_6\. Couch, Revisited_

Khiry doesn’t mean to fall asleep on the couch. He’s sitting waiting for Mix to finish up a business call so they can go to dinner. He idly flips through their, like, ten thousand channels but he can’t find anything to watch. He tips his head back against the couch and closes his eyes, just for a second, just to try and figure out what to do next, and he falls asleep. 

He wakes up to Mix saying, “Khi. Khi, hey, c’mon.” Khiry opens his eyes. He feels slow and fuzzy. His eyelids feel heavy, like they could just slip right closed again. He blinks a few times, trying to clear away the haziness of sleep. He lifts his head up off the back of the couch. Mix is crouched in front of him, right between his knees. Mix smiles. “Hey, there,” he says.

Khiry tries his best to smile back. “Hey,” he says and it comes out rough and broken. He clears his throat. “Uh, sorry, didn’t mean to fall asleep.” 

Mix pats his knee. “No worries.” 

“So, uh,” Khiry says, scrubbing his hand across his face, trying to wake himself up a bit, “Dinner?”

“It’s, like, almost nine,” Mix says. 

“Shit,” Khiry says, “Sorry. I know you wanted to go out. Uh, which, I guess, we still could? If you wanted to?” It’s the last thing he really wants to do but, if Mix wants to, he’ll do it. “Sorry, man, really didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

Mix waves his hand dismissively. “I was still on the phone until, like, ten minutes ago.” 

“Shit, really?” Khiry says, straightening up a bit, “Everything all right?”

“Yeah,” Mix says, “He just—“ He rolls his eyes and makes a _talk, talk, talk_ gesture with his hand. “He always goes on _forever_.” 

“That sucks.” 

Mix shrugs. “He’s always been like that.” 

“So, uh, dinner?” Khiry says, because, really, he’s kind of hungry, “We could like, make sandwiches, or something? What do we even have around?” 

“Sure,” Mix says, “Like, in a bit.” He’s still crouched between Khiry’s knees. Which can’t, Khiry thinks, really be that comfortable.

Khiry opens his mouth to protest because he’s hungry and it’s getting late. All of which, he’s pretty sure, makes an excellent argument in favor of eating right _now_. But Mix settles onto his knees in front of him and Khiry closes his mouth. Then opens it again right away. “Uh, Mix…” 

Mix smiles a little. “Yeah, Khi?”

“Um, what’re you…” 

Mix pushes Khiry’s shirt up. “This,” he says and leans in and brushes a kiss just above the drawstring of Khiry’s pants. 

“Right, uh,” Khiry says and entertains the idea that he’s still asleep because he’s, maybe, had a few dreams that started this way, “Like, I’m awake, right?” 

Mix drops his head so his face is pressed against Khiry’s stomach and laughs, the sound a warm, humming vibration against Khiry’s skin. “I don’t know,” he says, words muffled against Khiry’s stomach, “Are you?” then he pinches Khiry’s thigh.

“ _Ow_ , Mix, shit that _hurt_.” 

Mix lifts his head and smiles. “Guess you are awake, huh?” he says, because he thinks he’s funny, _the fucker_.

“Fuck you,” Khiry says. 

Mix laughs. “So, Khi,” he says, sliding his hand along Khiry’s stomach and pushing his shirt up a bit more, “You have lots of dreams like this? About me blowing you on the couch?” 

Really, Khiry should keep his mouth shut, because Mix’s going to give him so much shit about this but he says, “Maybe.”

Mix smirks. “Oh, yeah?” Khiry shrugs, well, tries to at least. Mix grins. “Well,” he says, “then let me make all your dreams come true.” It’s a terrible line. So terrible. Mix can barely finish saying it because he starts laughing in the middle. 

“You suck,” Khiry says, “Th—“

“Not yet,” Mix says, “But—“

“Oh God,” Khiry says, dropping his head back onto the couch, “Shut up. Just, please, shut up.” 

Mix is giggling. Like, for real, out and out giggling. When he finally, _finally_ stops, Khiry lifts his head and says, “You done?” 

Mix nods, his face a picture of wide-eyed innocence, which he ruins by starting to laugh again. “You’re ridiculous,” Khiry says.

“You like it,” Mix says.

And fuck if Khiry doesn’t. “Yeah. Yeah, “ he says trying, and mostly failing, not to smile.

Mix smiles and leans in to nuzzle Khiry’s stomach. It’s— Well, it’s kind of weird. But his dick is still totally into it. “You know,” Khiry says, his voice hitching slightly when Mix presses his open mouth just under his belly button, “In my dreams, this scenario involved a lot more of your mouth actually being on my dick.” 

Mix bites him, just lightly, scraping his teeth along Khiry’s hip bone. “Patience,” he says, against Khiry’s stomach, “‘Kay, Khi.” 

“Yeah,” Khiry says, squirming a bit, because he’s terrible at being patient, “Okay, but…” 

Mix laughs a little. He lifts his head and tucks his fingers under Khiry’s waistband. “C’mon,” he says, “lift up for me.” 

Khiry lifts himself up off the couch and lets Mix pulls his pants and underwear down to the middle of his thighs. Mix leans in and licks at the head of Khiry’s dick. “Sit,” he says. 

Khiry doesn’t sit so much as collapse. “Shit, Mix.” 

Being bare-assed on the couch is kind of uncomfortable. The upholstery itches. But then Mix curls his hand around Khiry’s dick and all that doesn’t seem so bad. Then Mix puts his mouth on Khiry’s dick and he forgets about the upholstery entirely. 

Khiry skims his fingertips through Mix’s hair. “Can I…” he says. The handful of other times they’ve done this it’d gone so fast, been over so quickly, he hadn’t had time to think, let alone ask for anything. But, right now, Mix’s going slow, like, _frustratingly_ slow. It’s still good, though, because having Mix’s mouth on him always good. 

Mix slides his mouth off Khiry’s dick with a lewd pop. “Yeah?” he says. He slides his hand along Khiry’s dick, jerking him slowly. 

Khiry tries to remember what he wanted to say. “Uh,” he says, “Shit, Mix, I, uh…”

Mix smirks. “C’mon, Khi, what do you want?” 

Khiry slides his finger under a strand of Mix’s hair and twines it around his finger. “Uh, can I…”

Mix turns his face into Khiry’s palm. “You wanna put your hands in my hair?” 

“Yeah.” 

Mix presses a kiss to Khiry’s palm. “Okay,” he says, “if you want to. Just gentle, ‘kay? No pulling or, like pushing.” He wrinkles his nose. “I don’t like that.”

“‘Kay,” Khiry says, “Promise. No pulling or pushing.”

Mix smiles and lowers his head. And, for a second, Khiry doesn’t move. Because if he doesn’t think about this, isn’t careful, he’s going to pull on Mix’s hair. Because he kind of _wants to_ but he’s not going to break his promise. He’d never want to do something to Mix that he doesn’t like. 

He takes a slow, steadying breath then he threads his fingers through Mix’s hair. Mix makes a low, humming sound that Khiry can _feel_ and he wants to clutch Mix’s hair and push his dick into his mouth. He takes another deep breath and keeps his fingers loose and relaxed in Mix’s hair. 

He lifts Mix’s hair, careful to be gentle, and holds it up out of the way so he can watch Mix’s mouth on his dick. Mix is sucking him in earnest now, pushing his mouth down to the edge of his fist, taking as much of Khiry’s dick as he can. Khiry slides his other hand into the other side of Mix’s hair and pushes it up so he can twine it all together in his fist. “S’this,” he says, trailing his fingers along Mix’s cheek, “Okay?” 

Mix slips his mouth off Khiry’s dick. “ _Mmm, _” he says, “Yeah. S’good for you?”__

__“Yeah,” Khiry says and his voice cracks a little, “I, uh, I like…” He rubs his thumb along the side Mix’s mouth. His mouth wet and plush and Khiry can’t resist slowly sliding his thumb across his bottom lip. “Uh, to see, you know…”_ _

__Mix colors, pink blooming along his skin along the curve of his cheekbones. He licks the tip of Khiry’s thumb. “Yeah?” he says._ _

__“Oh, _yeah,_ ” Khiry says, “You’re…” _Pretty_. But he doesn’t say it. Isn’t even sure how he feels thinking it. He lets his hand slip away from Mix’s face. “S’nice.” Mix smiles then he dips his head and puts his mouth back on Khiry’s dick. _ _

__He pushes his way down Khiry’s dick, sucking quick and hard. And he’s done being slow. It’s overwhelming and _so good_. _ _

__Khiry doesn’t last long after that, he can’t. “Mix,” he says, “God, _fuck_ , I’m gonna…” And Mix hums a little and pushes his mouth down a little farther and Khiry comes. He tries not to tighten his hand in Mix’s hair, he does, but he’s not sure he manages it. _ _

__When Mix lifts his head, Khiry carefully pulls his hand out of Mix’s hair. Instead of falling forward, Mix’s hair sort of stays up, like Khiry still has his fingers in it. It looks like a strange, messy, bun sort of thing. It makes him look kind of weird. Khiry laughs a little. He doesn’t really mean to but it just looks so _ridiculous_. _ _

__Mix pokes Khiry’s thigh. “Hey,” he says, his voice low and rough, “Are you laughing at me, Khi? After I just sucked your dick? Not cool, Khi.”_ _

__“No,” Khiry says, helplessly, still laughing. He waves his hand towards Mix’s hair. “It’s just, your hair, it’s kinda…”_ _

__Mix frowns a little. “What did you do to my hair?”_ _

__“Nothing. Nothing. S’just a little…” He holds out his hand. “C’mon on up here and I’ll fix it.”_ _

__“Fine,” Mix says and takes Khiry’s hand. Khiry pulls him up and then Mix climbs into his lap. He settles himself across Khiry’s thighs. “Well,” he says, poking Khiry’s shoulder, “Fix it.”_ _

__Khiry carefully untangles the mess he’d made of Mix’s hair and finger-combs it until it’s hanging around his face like it normally does. “There,” he says, lightly tugging the end of one strand, “All good.”_ _

__Mix huffs a little but he smiles and says, “Yeah?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Khiry says and leans in to kiss him. He just kisses him for awhile, slow and deep, tasting the leftover salty bitter taste of his own come in Mix’s mouth. He gets his hands between them and presses one to the crotch of Mix’s shorts. He pulls back from the kiss. “You,” he says, surprised, “uh, you already…”_ _

__Mix ducks his head. “Uh, yeah. While I was, I uh, yeah.”_ _

__“Oh,” Khiry says stupidly because _fuck, that’s hot._ _ _

__“Khi?” Mix says, a bit uncertainly, and Khiry doesn’t want that. He kisses him, too quick, and a little clumsy. When he pulls back, Mix says, with a hint of a smile, “So, not a bad thing?”_ _

__Khiry shakes his head. “Nah, man, it’s kinda hot.”_ _

__“Yeah?” Mix says._ _

__Khiry nods. “Oh, yeah. Wish I coulda seen though.”_ _

__Mix smiles. “Next time—“ And Khiry can’t help smiling when Mix says _next time_. He’s still not used to there being a _next time_ , still can’t quite believe the really awesome so far thing that he and Mix have going. “I’ll do it naked,” Mix says, “Let you watch me jerk off while I suck your dick.” _ _

__And Khiry can’t really breathe for a second. “ _Fuck_ ,” he says, “Mix.” _ _

__“You’d like that, huh?” Mix says. And he looks so smug, his mouth curved in a wide, self-satisfied smile. Khiry leans in and kisses that smile. Mix laughs a little against his mouth but Khiry deepens the kiss and Mix’s laughter slides into a soft, pleased hum._ _

__Khiry would be content to just sit there awhile and make-out with Mix but his stomach chooses just now to growl really, _really_ loudly. Mix bursts out laughing in the middle of the kiss. “I guess,” he says, pulling back, “We should’ve eaten dinner first.” He gives Khiry a quick kiss. “C’mon,” he says, hopping up off Khiry’s lap, before Khiry can say anything, “I’ll make you a sandwich.” He holds out his hand._ _

__Khiry thinks about protesting, because, _make-outs_ , but he really is hungry. So he lifts his hips and pulls up his pants. Then he takes Mix’s hand and says, “Yeah, okay,” and lets Mix pull him up. _ _

__Mix smiles and threads their fingers together. “So,” he says, “Turkey? Or Peanut butter & jelly?” _ _

__Khiry leans into him and squeezes his hand. “Definitely turkey.”_ _

__“Whatever you want, Khi,” Mix says and pulls him towards the kitchen._ _

__Mix doesn’t let go of Khiry’s hand until they get to the kitchen. And that’s just fine with Khiry. Being right by Mix’s side is always his favorite place to be._ _

**Author's Note:**

> [Syttende Mai](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Norwegian_Constitution_Day) is a national Norwegian holiday. Every year there’s a parade in Brooklyn on that day and this year [Mix attended with Khiry](https://instagram.com/p/2yyctrE1ip/).


End file.
